The first year I was here I didn’t really know where to get a real Christmas tree from – the garden centres are not exactly abundant and well, yeah I was new to all this stuff here. So I bought a faux tree (lord above, who would believe it) – although I totally commended myself on being very environmentally friendly it just wasn’t the same. But you know how you do that thing to make yourself feel better – you pretend you’re totally cool with it even though deep down you want to throw it out the window.
I also ordered some lights – bright white. Big mistake.
We have blue walls and blue carpet in our flat (don’t even get me started on that – whoever was in charge of the interior decoration would be thrown out of the first class at a design school before they probably even opened their mouth). Anyway, I don’t know if you’ve ever bought bright white, instead of warm white lights… well they are kind of blueish. Yahhhh.
So, picture yucky faux tree, blue (not very cosy) lights bouncing of blue walls and blue floor. YUM! It didn’t look terrible but I have to have Christmas ‘just so’ and I wasn’t happy about it. But I pretended I was. For the last two years I’ve decorated that tree like my life depended on it – willing myself to love it.
Therefore, when talking to one of the girls from boot camp and she announced that she was going to this Christmas tree farm up the road like she does every Christmas – I was like OMFG get me some of that! So I mentioned it to Mr OC. Now, remember Mr OC is an Arborist… yes, that’s tree work. Asking your partner to not only agree to buy a tree you don’t really need but also to spend his weekend driving up and cutting one down (when he does this 5 sometimes 6 days a week anyway) is noooooot a good plan. However, he eventually agreed and so off we went on Sunday afternoon.
We found the tree we wanted and there were these two old dudes wandering around the plantation with saws – they assist you in cutting it down. Well we ended up with this old guy who liked like something out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre – he was a proper country bumpkin – he had the biggest wonkiest, beaten up nose and he kind of had spittle coming out the corners of his mouth. He also had wonky eyes. Am sure he is an ok guy but…
… at this point Mr OC decides to step back and let me take over the proceedings in a) bargaining the guy down on price and b) chopping the tree down. Not funny.
No word of a lie – once we’d negotiated a good price ($60) he was all “well karm ova ere then darl” (as you can imagine, not a summons I found inviting). He was kneeling down on the ground behind the tree with his saw, and so I left the safe ground on the other side of the tree and went around the other side… I willingly crouched down facing the guy with the thought that we should just get the tree cut down and get out of here. But the fun was only just getting started.
He promptly told me I needed to turn around – i.e. so my butt was backing into him. He then wrapped his arms around me (like perfecting someone’s golf swing type of thing) and showed me where to put my hands on the saw….erm, uncomfortable much?
But he wasn’t done yet. You know how if you are uncomfortable you kind of laugh to make light of the situation? Well I did – loudly and with gusto. But this seemed to spur him on. He started making like “oh yeah right there” kind of comments and I couldn’t go anywhere because I was sawing down the tree. This whole time Mr OC is just standing back laughing at me. For the entire duration of sawing down this tree… which was probably about two minutes, but felt like twenty.
Argh. I love my tree but for a time on the way home, as I was traumatised by flashbacks and Mr OCs teasing, I was not convinced I wanted a reminder in the shape of a green fir tree in our lounge for the entirety of the next month.
But it’s all OK – the tree is up and even Mr OC admitted it looked great. Although he says he said this after he’d had a couple of beers so it doesn’t count…